Shots in the Dark

by Allyson K. Abbott

  Christine nodded, verifying Middleton’s statement.

  “You didn’t find anything in Tiffany’s e-mails or text messages or phone records that might have provided a clue?” Tyrese asked Christine.

  She shook her head. “All her contacts were friends or family members. And the friends were largely female. There were a few men she knew as friends, but she hadn’t had contact with any of them in the month before her death and only minimal contact with one or two prior to that. If I remember right, the most recent one was around five weeks before, a guy who has been a friend of the Gallagher family for years and is now married, with kids.”

  “That doesn’t mean he can’t have an affair,” Mal said. “And these days, maybe folks are smart enough not to leave an electronic trail. If you watch any crime TV at all, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see that that kind of stuff is the downfall for many people.”

  Christine smiled, with a hint of smugness. “Valid points,” she said. “But the fact that this guy and his family were in London at the time of the murder and several months before that kind of ruled him out.”

  “Oh,” Mal said.

  Oh, indeed. “What about girlfriends Tiffany was close to?” I asked Middleton, remembering Alicia’s idea about confidantes. “Was there anyone she might have shared something like this with?”

  “Melanie Smithson was her closest friend,” he said. “The two of them grew up together, and they’ve been best buds since before kindergarten. Melanie was the maid of honor at our wedding, and she and Tiffany get together—” He stopped abruptly and winced. “She and Tiff got together at least once a week for drinks or lunch or dinner. I imagine if anyone knew Tiff’s secrets, it would be her.”

  Tyrese wrote down the name, and as he did so, Christine said, “I talked to Melanie already, months ago. She said she wasn’t aware of Tiffany having any affairs.” She shrugged and added, “I suppose she could have been lying.”

  “Maybe I can figure that out if I have a chat with her,” I said.

  Mal had been frowning for the past minute or so, and when he posed the next question, I got an idea as to why. “Mr. Middleton, if we assume that your version of the events is true, and this man approached you, stuck a gun in your face, and said to get out of the car, why didn’t Tiffany do just that? Why did she stay in the car?”

  “I have no idea,” Middleton said, raising his cuffed hands and rubbing at his forehead with the sides of his thumbs. “I’ve often asked myself that same question. The only thing I can think of is that she was so scared, she froze.”

  It was a good question. Most people under those circumstances would have hightailed it out of the vehicle. “You said Tiffany was prone to panic attacks,” I said. “Do you think she had one during all of this?”

  Middleton gave me a sad smile. “I suppose it’s possible. To be honest, I wasn’t focused on Tiffany when it all went down. I was focused on the man and that damned gun. But like I said before, Tiffany had these moods where she’d often become withdrawn . . . closed off. There were times when she looked frightened . . . not of me, but rather of some ethereal thing. She would stare out the window or at the door with a panicky expression, as if she expected someone or something to be lurking out there. And she’d had that look when she said she wanted to leave the rental house and head home.” He hesitated, his eyes staring off into space. “I asked her father about it once, and he told me Tiffany had always been that way. He told me Tiffany needed someone who was strong, someone who could keep her safe and secure.” He scoffed and shook his head.

  “You sound a little resentful,” I said.

  “I am,” he admitted. “Not of Tiffany per se, but of her father, Colin Gallagher. That man put me through the wringer when Tiff and I got engaged. He kept questioning me about how I was going to give Tiff the kind of lifestyle she deserved. And he came right out and asked me if I was marrying her for her money. Several times he told me that I wasn’t good enough for her, that she deserved someone better. And to top it off, I found out that he hired a private detective to do an extensive background check on me.”

  “How did you figure that out?”

  “The bastard told me,” Middleton said irritably. “But not until after I accused him of it.” He smiled bitterly. “This PI he hired wasn’t very good, and he’s also rather distinctive looking. He’s quite tall, like six-six or something, and has a ruddy, pockmarked face and a big beak of a nose. That combo made him stand out in any crowd. At first I thought he might have been one of Tiffany’s exes or someone who was fixated on her, because when I first noticed him, it was always when the two of us were together. But then I started seeing him when I was on my own. It didn’t take me long to figure out the guy was stalking me, and since I’m not a very stalk-worthy person otherwise, I guessed that Colin had to be behind it. So I asked him about it, and he admitted it. He acted like it was no big deal and like he couldn’t understand why I was so upset over it. He said it was SOP for a guy like him with a daughter like Tiffany.”

  “So you and your father-in-law didn’t get along,” Mal said.

  “That’s an understatement,” Middleton said with a sardonic chuckle. “Though in fairness to the guy, I suspect he would have done the same thing to anyone who showed an interest in Tiffany.”

  “When did things start to go bad between you and Tiffany?” I asked. “Was there a sudden increase in the frequency or the number of these mood swings she had?”

  Middleton furrowed his brow. “Things were really good with us in the beginning. Yes, Tiff sometimes had one of her moods, but I figured out early on how to deal with them. And whenever she’d get scared, I could often reassure her. But that started to change about six months before . . . well, before the night in question. We went to this family gathering the Gallaghers had for Tiffany’s brother Rory when he finished grad school. When we went home that night, she seemed distant, distracted, upset about something. I tried to ask her what was wrong, but she just kept blowing me off and saying everything was fine, that she was just tired. I figured it was one of her moods and gave her the space she needed to get through it, letting her know I was there if she needed me. In the past her moods had never lasted more than a day or two, but this time it hung on for weeks. I kept asking her if something was bothering her, but she gave me the same brush-off and feeble reassurances every time.”

  He sighed. “I didn’t buy it. I could tell something was different with this episode. She never wanted to go anywhere or do anything with me, and she gave up her volunteer work at the animal shelter. She started spending nights in our guest room instead of in our bed, and our sex life dried up. Hell, our entire life dried up. Before this happened, we used to talk all the time, sharing our days with one another or indulging in long, friendly debates about current topics. But all that stopped.” He gave me a forlorn, miserable look. “That was what the anniversary trip was for, to bring us back together without any other distractions . . . to give us some quality time together. And at first, it seemed to be working. The first few days we spent in that house were like old times.”

  “You said this change occurred after a family gathering,” I said. “Are you aware of any dealings or exchanges she had with anyone during the event that might have triggered it?”

  Middleton shook his head. “No. It was a fun event. Tiffany seemed to be enjoying herself. I didn’t see her argue with anyone, and she didn’t mention anything to me that would indicate she was having a problem with anyone.”

  “I take it the two of you didn’t stay together the whole time?” I said.

  “No, maybe half of the time. There were a lot of old friends present that Tiffany hadn’t seen in a while, so she kept wandering off to chat. I didn’t know anyone there other than the Gallagher family, so I kind of stayed to myself for most of it.”

  “Did any of Tiffany’s other family members seem to have a dislike for you?” Mal asked.

  “I don’t think so. If they did, they hid it well. But then
the rest of that family is a lot more polite and tactful than Colin is.” He paused and then amended his statement. “At least her mother and her brother Aidan are. Rory’s kind of quiet. I never got to know him very well.”

  I was out of questions, but I had a lot of new ideas about where we could go from here. I looked over at Mal, Clay, and Tyrese. “Do you guys have anything you want to ask?”

  They all shook their heads, so I turned to Middleton. “Do you have any questions for us?”

  “Yeah . . . one. Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why are you doing this? What are you getting out of it? And what is it going to cost me?”

  “That’s three questions,” I said in a light, joking tone, but Middleton didn’t smile, so I continued on a more sobering note. “As for cost, there is none, at least not in any monetary sense.” I paused to see if he would ask for further clarification on this point, but he remained silent. “As for what we get out of it, we get the satisfaction of finding the truth, and if that truth exonerates you, we get the satisfaction of knowing we righted a wrong. If that does turn out to be the case and we can figure out who really did it, we also get to see justice properly served. That’s compensation enough.”

  This wasn’t the whole story, of course. I suspect many of the Capone Club members did what they did for these reasons, but also because their lives were less boring and ordinary thanks to their involvement. For me, the motivation was a bit different. My synesthesia was something I’d always considered a quirk, a flaw, a handicap. It was something that made me stand out, and not in a good way. But once I saw how my synesthesia could be useful . . . valuable even . . . I was hooked. The intrinsic reward for me was validation and the feeling that I was unique in a good, special way, as opposed to a weird, creepy way. I was shrugging off the mantle of a lifelong stigma, and I found the process not only highly satisfying but also addictive.

  Middleton took a few seconds to weigh my answer. “Fair enough,” he said finally. “Are you going to continue to look into my case?”

  “I am,” I said. “And I imagine the rest of the group will follow suit. But I have to reiterate that we can’t make any promises.”

  “I understand.”

  There was one more thing I wanted to do. I hesitated because I knew it might upset Middleton, but it had to be done, so I pushed on. “I do have one last question for you. Did you kill your wife?”

  Ben Middleton didn’t blink. He didn’t move. He didn’t look away. Without hesitation, maintaining eye contact with me the entire time, he said, “I did not.”

  Peanut butter all the way.

  I looked at the others. “Does anyone else have anything to say?”

  Everyone shook their heads.

  “Then let’s get to it,” I said.

  Chapter 15

  We left the prison after telling Christine we would keep her posted on our progress.

  Once we were inside the car, Mal asked me, “What was your take on Middleton?”

  “The guy was being truthful, as far as I could tell, other than that one time. It was fortunate that he did lie at least once to give me a comparison. I’m inclined to believe him when he says he didn’t do it.”

  “I agree,” Tyrese said. “He seemed sincere.”

  Clay said nothing, and after a moment I asked him for his opinion.

  “I’m on the fence,” he said. “I agree the guy seemed sincere, but I’ve dealt with killers before who were able to do the same thing convincingly, even though it was obvious they were guilty.” He turned and looked over his shoulder at me. “While your judgment about whether or not he was telling the truth is interesting, I’m going to need something more than just your say-so before I’m convinced. Though I’m willing to keep an open mind.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “So what do we do next?” Clay asked.

  “I want to talk to this friend of Tiffany’s,” I said. “And, Clay, I’d love to take you up on your offer of arranging a chat with Tiffany’s family.”

  He nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “There’s something that bothers me about the prosecution’s theory,” Mal said. “If Middleton really did want to kill his wife, why do it in the confines of the car like that? Why stop on a road where there might be witnesses and risk the whole thing being observed by someone? Why not just kill her somewhere else, somewhere private, and come up with a different story, like a home invasion?”

  “It sounds like it was plenty private,” Tyrese said. “And killing her at the house still would have pointed the finger right at him. So maybe the carjacking thing was the best he could come up with.”

  “I don’t know,” Mal said. “Middleton seems like an intelligent guy. I think he could have come up with something better.”

  At that point we dropped the topic of the Middleton case and went back to discussing mundane topics, like the weather and current events. Clay listened but said nothing more for the entire ride.

  Tyrese dropped us off outside the bar and said he’d be back later that evening, after he took a nap. Clay said he would get right on trying to set up a meet and greet with the Gallaghers and get back to me with the details once it was arranged. With that, he parted our company and walked down the block to his car. Mal and I watched him leave before we headed inside.

  Once we were in the bar, with the door securely locked behind us, I said, “Mind if we switch gears and talk about the other case?”

  I didn’t need to specify what the other case was. The letter writer was foremost in my mind, and I felt certain it was in the upper echelons of Mal’s, too.

  “What about it?”

  “I’ve been thinking about all the people who have been involved, the ones who received the packages. Those packages were delivered to their places of employment and their home addresses. That implies to me that the letter writer knows these people somehow or has access to their information. They must have something in common.”

  Mal nodded thoughtfully, following me into the bar kitchen. I switched on the lights and fired up the deep fryer.

  “Want something to eat?” I asked.

  “Sure. What do you have in mind?”

  “I’m in the mood for a burger and fries myself, but I can make you anything you like.”

  “I’ll have what you’re having. It sounds good.” He leaned back against the sink and watched me work as I went about preparing the food. “Do you have any ideas about what these people might have in common?” he asked at one point.

  “Not yet, but I thought I might get Cora working on it, to see what she can dig up.”

  “That’s a good idea. I have to say, that woman is quite resourceful.”

  I had the burgers on the grill and the fries in the fryer, so I handed Mal a package of buns and pointed him toward the fridge. “I’ll take lettuce, tomato, and onion on mine, with a little mayo. Fix yours the way you want. Do you want cheese?”

  He nodded.

  “What kind? I have cheddar, American, pepper jack, provolone, and Swiss. Oh, and I also have a kick-ass horseradish cheddar.”

  “I’ll go with the horseradish cheddar.”

  While he got the buns and condiments ready, I sent a text message to Cora, asking her if she could come by and offering her a free lunch in exchange for her time. She answered me less than a minute later, texting back that she would be at my front door in five minutes. Since I was cooking, I had Mal go meet her at the door.

  Ten minutes later we were all seated at a table near the bar, Mal and I with our burgers, Cora with her standard glass of chardonnay. She wasn’t hungry and said she’d take a rain check on the free meal. After summarizing our trip to Waupun and our chat with Ben Middleton, we explained to Cora what we wanted with regard to background information on the people who had received the packages from the letter writer. After reviewing the information we already knew, she went to work, tapping away on her laptop.

  While Cora worked, Mal and I shared some t
heories about Ben Middleton’s case.

  “An obvious alternative suspect is whoever Tiffany had her affair with,” Mal said.

  Cora looked up from her laptop long enough to comment. “I did look into Tiffany’s social media, and I didn’t come up with much other than some contacts you might want to talk to. But since it’s been almost a year since her death, it might not be very fruitful.”

  Mal said,” You never know what people may remember. It’s worth a shot if we run out of other ideas.”

  Cora nodded. “I’ll give you a list of names later today.” Then she went back to her research.

  “I don’t think we can rule out Middleton’s version of the events,” I said. “His carjacking scenario seems feasible, and I haven’t seen any evidence yet that suggests otherwise.”

  “Occam’s razor,” Mal said.

  I gave him a puzzled look, and he explained.

  “It’s a scientific principle. Essentially, it means that the least complicated, most obvious answer is the most likely one.”

  “Perhaps that works in science,” I said, “but we’re dealing with humans, in all their frailty and complexity. In my experience, that tends to complicate things.”

  “True,” Mal admitted. “And along those lines, we should consider the possibility that Ben Middleton was the intended victim. If Tiffany was having an affair, her new paramour might have arranged the carjacking scenario, hoping to kill Ben.”

  “If that was the case, why didn’t the guy just shoot Ben outright, then?” I posed.

  “Maybe Tiffany didn’t want to risk getting hit,” Mal said with a shrug. Then his eyes widened, and I could tell another idea had come to him. “Or maybe the carjacker didn’t want to get blood all over the inside of his newly acquired car. Or maybe the killer needed the car for a getaway and intended to fake a kidnapping. In fact, we should look at Tiffany’s financials closely. Given the acrimonious nature of the relationship between Ben Middleton and Colin Gallagher, it’s possible that he threatened to cut his daughter off from the family money. A staged kidnapping might have been a way to get some of that money back.”